Seeing Harry
by Verity Grahams
Summary: This is a OneShot. What if Harry opened up to Snape before he saw the mans bitterness and hate; "To openly care would ruin all of Dumbledore's plans. He had to make a choice. "Always," he said with a sad smile" There is a second One-Shot here now, if Harry had approached Snape for the first time after that lesson, but with some extra information!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter - Updated 3rd January 18**

 **I know have a section on my profile page where I update what will be happening with each of my stories adnn when they are likly to be updated including where I am up to on a chapter or planning ahead with fictions.**

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Chapter one - What if Snape so less of James and more of Harry

It was only Harry's first week at Hogwarts and he had been sorted into a house, Gryffindor, he was happy about that but he also had this nagging feeling that he should have been put in Slytherin, mainly because the Sorting Hat had said so. He had a sneaking suspicion about that professor with dark hair to his shoulders, he hadn't stopped looking at him, he wondered if the professor knew, Harry had no idea why, and he couldn't tell if it was immediate dislike, curiosity or something else, he was hard to read. He had potions this morning, and that meant he would be being taught by none other than Professor Snape. He decided to go early in the morning, a lot of things had been playing on his mind, he hadn't been happier in his life, but he was worried about Slytherin, he was confused about his parents, it was hard to adjust his view of them, and it was hard to understand this whole new world. He just hoped the strange professor would be able to help. He figured he would be able to help with the Slytherin thing, he was the head of Slytherin after all. He knocked cautiously on the professor's office door and waited for some response.

"Enter" The man had a deep voice, it didn't make him feel all that comfortable, and he spoke words so precisely, so severely, overall his initial thought was intimidating, someone not to be messed with.

"Professor?" he asked tentatively. He walked in and there sat a man, his head was bowed over many papers, his dark shiny hair fell on his face and he wore voluminous dark robes.

"Sit" The professor didn't even look up to see who it was.

"Sir, I wanted to talk before the lesson, I-" he didn't know where to start, in his head he had hoped that the man would have been warm and inviting, making him feel at ease when he read the concern on the scared first years face. However, he hadn't even looked up. "I think I should have been put in Slytherin, but I begged the hat not to," he stumbled over the words. "But I am frightened of going into Slytherin... I thought you might be able to help sir... cause your head of Slytherin... Sir" He stopped

He hadn't noticed that the professor had looked up, Professor Snape had hated this boys father, he had expected the boy to act just like his Father, as he looked like him, what he saw was a far cry from arrogance, it was uncertain, frightened. His initial instinct was to warn the boy about wasting his time, but when he looked up to do just that he saw _her_ eyes, he remembered her eyes looking like that when she would confide in him about her sister, how separated she felt from her family, when she was hurt and upset they looked just like that. He chose differently.

"Why did the hat say you should be in Slytherin?" his voice was calm and even, his eyes focused yet again on the papers before him.

"The hat said it was difficult, he said I had courage, and not a bad mind, talent and a thirst to prove myself, he said that Slytherin would help me on the way to greatness, but I didn't want to be in Slytherin, that's why he put me in Gryffindor" He thought he might have offended the teacher by saying that he didn't want to be in Slytherin, but he thought he would offend him more if he said why, that he had learned that the Wizard who killed his family had been from that house, but the professor did seem to want to give answers.

"And why didn't you want to be in Slytherin?" He questioned, surely the boy would show his arrogance now, his prejudice.

"erm - well, it's just that Hagrid, he told me what happened when I was a baby," He paused looking at his feet, unable to meet the man's eyes, petrified of angering the professor, "I had never known before, my Aunt Petunia lied to me, and then I found out that _he_ was from Slytherin, the one who killed my parents, the one who gave me my scar, I thought it would mean I was like him" he felt awkward and stupid.

"And yet you come to the head of that house… Do you think I am like him?" His voice was cold still, not exactly prejudice, but very close

"No, sir, I came to you because I thought you might be able to explain Slytherin to me better, I don't know anything about this stuff cause of my aunt and uncle, they hate magic, they hate my mum and everything to do with the wizarding world, which kind of means they hate me" He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of the stern professor, but his emotions were building up and he felt that the last thing he was showing was courage. He half expected the man to tell him not to worry, Slytherin doesn't except wimps!

He couldn't help but look at the child before him, he knew Petunia wouldn't be loving to the boy, hateful though? And the boy said he just wanted to understand. "Slytherin is a house known for those that are cunning, clever, want to go far and are willing to do almost anything to get what they want, these are not necessarily evil characteristics, though I won't deny, most Dark wizards have them. Given your history, it's understandable that you wouldn't want to be in Slytherin, however, Courage and wanting to prove yourself are Gryffindor traits also, and I imagine it would be a good fit, both of your parents were in Gryffindor" he finished coolly.

"You knew my parents?" Harry looked up, almost hopeful, maybe he had found someone who could talk to him, someone who could help him understand who they really were? "It's just I don't know anything about them."

"What did you hear?" He didn't confirm or deny, he wanted to know what was being said though, he didn't want to get in deep, he asked Dumbledore to keep his task secret, he could not get close to the child.

"They said that my dad was an unemployed drunk" he couldn't keep the sadness out of his voice, "The only thing I heard about my mum was what my Aunt Marge used to say, she would explain to my Aunt Petunia why there was something wrong with me, that it wasn't her fault; 'if there's something wrong with the bitch, then there's something wrong with the pup'" tears sat in his eyes, he finally looked up at the professor, his eyes flashed with anger, and he worried that it was something that he had said, maybe he was in trouble.

"They said that to you." It wasn't a question "Your mother was the kindest woman I ever met" he hadn't realised what he had done until the words were out of his mouth.

"You knew her? Can you tell me about her?" the boy's eyes lit up for the first time since he walked in the room, somehow Severus couldn't deny the child, there was far too much Lily there, and as he had said to Dumbledore, he would do anything for Lily.

"Another time I can, not your father… we did not get along... at all" he tried to end the conversation bluntly, though the look on the child's face was now more eager and also more confident.

"Did you love her?" He asked, Professor Snape, looked at the boy, knowing the answer and yet unsure of what to say, there was a line that he would cross if he spoke the truth, if he let Harry in, he wouldn't be able to hold him at a distance, uncaring and protecting him simply for Lily's sake, there was a danger he would see more of her and care for the boy far more than he ought to, especially considering the mark on the inside of his forearm, the mark that would one day burn a new, meaning he was called to serve the one that wanted this child dead. To openly care would ruin all of Dumbledore's plans. He had to make a choice.

"Always," he said with a sad smile

 **A/N I have had so many people follow this one, but I am afraid that will be staying a one-shot, I don't think there is anything new I can do with this idea, it would end up being very similar to every other mentor fic**

 **BooNaughts**


	2. Seeing Harry - Flower Language

**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter**

 **Written for the International Wizarding School Competition Summer Camp**

 **Week 5 - Write about getting straight to the point on matters of the heart**

 **Wordcount: 1941**

 **This is supposed to be an alternate version to another fic of mine called 'Seeing Harry'. I thought I would look at how it might have gone if Harry had spoken to Snape after that first fateful lesson, but had a little extra information.**

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Flower Language

Harry Potter's first potions lesson had been — interesting. The professor, Snape, had shown a clear dislike of Harry, but there was an anomaly; one that Harry would be sure to figure out. He had checked his facts, and gone over the moment in his head many times. Now, he would confront the professor. Harry wanted to know why he hated him so much, he also wanted to know what the professor's secret was.

He still had to work himself up to the encounter, after all, Professor Snape was a scary guy. He made sure that his uniform was correct – no sense in losing more points than he had to, right – pulled his bag onto his shoulder, and grabbed his, now late, potions homework. He made his way out of Gryffindor Tower alone, and each step closer to the dungeons was more daunting than the last.

Harry stood in front of Professor Snape's office door for a few minutes before he plucked up the courage to knock. He told himself, ' _You can just hand in the home work, and back out, like a coward.'_ Harry was not going to back out, he was no coward. He knocked and within seconds he heard the deep low rumble of Professor Snape's voice.

"Come in."

Harry paused, running through the details one last time before he took hold of the cold metal handle and twisted it, pushing the door open. The office was as dark as the potions classroom. The room held only a desk and walls lined with bookshelves, everything was neat and orderly. It was a small office, and dismal only being lit by a few candles and there were no windows.

Professor Snape sat behind his large ebony desk, his head was bowed over a pile of parchment and the long black quill in his hand was scratching furiously. He didn't look up as Harry approached the desk, and he didn't look up when the eerie silence was broken by the chair in front of his desk being pulled out. Harry sat down and waited as silence descended once more.

"Spit it out, Potter," Severus said, finally breaking the silence.

"I wanted to talk to you, Sir." Harry fumbled about in his bag, pulling out a very worn out piece of parchment. Clearing his throat, he continued, "I wanted to talk to you about something that you said in class." Once the words were spoken, silence reigned again. Professor Snape consituned to work.

"Were you planning on expanding on that thought?" he asked.

"You asked me a question, Sir," Harry began. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Giving me an answer now, after I told it to you, is not very impressive, Potter."

"I have a different answer, Professor," Harry said, gulping. He had neared the subject of this little heart to heart far quicker than he had intended.

"There is only one answer." Professor Snape looked up, his face was uncaring, cold even. "Now, if that was all, you may kindly hand in you _late_ essay, and leave me to my work."

The dark professor then bowed his head once more, pulled out a fresh essay and his long black quill began scratching away once more. There was an air of finality in the room, but Harry was not going to give up.

"Did you know that an Asphodel is a type of Lily? It has a very specific meaning; ' _My regrets follow you to the grave.'_ My mum was called Lily. Wormwood is a symbol of bitterness and sorrow, so if I were to combine those two things, you were saying ' _I bitterly regret Lily's death_.'"

Harry took a breath and watched as the dark man froze where he sat. He didn't say another thing, he waited patiently for the stoic man to respond, or move, but he didn't. Harry watched, the Hogwarts Potions Master was tense, his breathing was laboured and his head lowered, the dark, greasy locks hiding his face.

"This was basically the first thing you said to me," Harry continued, feeling just a little braver now. "I can tell you dislike me, I can tell by how angry you sound every time you talk to me. You were angry when you asked me that question, but it was different, so don't lie to me. You were angry, but behind that you couldn't bear to say the words, there was pain too."

The professor still didn't move, nor did he look up. Harry continued talking.

"I have been lied to all my life, so I can tell when it's happening. I watch people because my aunt wouldn't let them talk to me or me them. I have learnt to read people; I know you can lie and I know you are good at it. Please don't. I know you knew her–" Harry's voice cracked over the last word, the coiled emotion started to unwind, breaking through and causing tears to start falling.

"I know that you knew my mum," he tried again. "Please, I just want to know about her, maybe you have a picture of her? Can you believe I haven't seen my own mum?" Harry was almost begging at the end.

The dark professor finally moved. He looked up, and his face was stiff, angry, and unmoving. The expression frightened Harry, it told him that he wasn't going to get what he was looking for here.

"How dare you," he began. "You think you can come here and pry into my personal life? You are–"

"No!" Harry interrupted, shouting at the now shocked professor." "If you cared about her at all, you would tell her only son, the son she couldn't look after, you would tell me about her! That's what she would have done! If you miss her, if you are really sorry she's gone, you would do right! You would do right by her by telling me something, letting me see her, just once!" Harry bellowed, tears began running freely.

"I do not know where you got this insane idea from," he began, trying to adopt a far calmer demeanour, but Professor Snape was shaken.

"Don't lie! It's not a coincidence that that's what it means, or that you said it to me."

"And you are sure those are the actual meanings?" the professor asked, looking down at Harry.

"Yes, I spend far too much time in my cupboard with nothing to do my read my Aunt Petunia's gardening books," Harry said, his tone less angry and more resentful. "I went to the library and double checked," Harry spat.

Professor Snape looked far less angry now, more shocked. The shock passed and what came looked liked a resigned admission, but of what Harry didn't know.

"You did know her, didn't you?" Harry asked pleadingly.

"Yes," he replied, giving up the fight. "I do not want to talk about it."

"My aunt never told me anything about my parents, at least nothing good. Can you at least tell me what you remember, please?" Harry looked up at the professor, his eyes a more vibrant green than before, as tears collected, waiting to fall. "I just want to know what she was like."

The professor stood, and he towered over Harry and the desk, his voluminous black robes creating an intimidating silhouette. This time, however, he didn't lorde it over Harry, but simply dug around the large bookcase behind him until he pulled out an old battered wooden box.

"She never took no for an answer either," he replied in a quiet voice. It was a tone that Harry had never heard from the man before, gentle almost. "When I first sw you, in class, you were very defiant, like your father! Just so you know, that isn't a compliment. I do not like him, I refuse to speak about him."

He sat in front of Harry and took a deep breath as he opened the wooden box.

"Were you in love with her once? Is that why you don't like me or my dad?" Harry asked eagerly, almost forgetting who he was speaking to, his only concern being for the information that he craved.

"Me and your mother were friends for a long time. That is all you need to know. We were not friends when we left Hogwarts, we hadn't been for some time. I will say no more! You do not get to know about _my_ life. I will tell you what she was like, Merlin knows Petunia will not tell you."

"You knew Aunt Petunia?" he asked aghast.

"She was a horrible spiteful child, and I am not surprised that she is horrible and spiteful to you. She was so jealous of your mother and her gift."

"Jealous? But Aunt Petunia hates magic! I got locked in my cupboard for a week because I accidentally did magic once. I mean, I didn't know it was magic, she never told me anything about it!"

"You keep mentioning a cupboard?" he asked as he sorted through the various pieces of parchment and photographs in his little box.

"Yeah, I don't have to stay in my cupboard now, not since the first Hogwarts letter arrived!" Harry grinned.

"You lived in an actual cupboard?" he clarified again, he now had a number of pictures in his hands. His focus was on the photographs, he held them so delicately, like they might spontaneously combust. There was a reluctance in his eyes, like he may never see them again if he handed them over, and that was possibly the worst thing that he could imagine.

"Yeah, now I have Dudley's second bedroom! There are more books in there, I am pretty sure Dudley can't read," Harry said, sniggering.

"Did you ever tell anyone that you lived in a cupboard? It's not something that the authorities, Muggle or Magical, generally allow."

"I tried, but somehow nothing ever happened. Loads of teachers promised, and then it would be like they didn't even remember? It was strange."

The professor frowned, and handed over a few small photographs. "She was the kindest person in the world. So very forgiving," he coked a little, disguising it by clearing his throat. "She was smart too, and very good at potions."

"Really? I _was_ looking forward to potions more than anything."

"I ruined it, did I?" he asked, he sounded a little like he regretted it, but Harry couldn't imagine Professor Snape regretting anything.

"When you told me off…" Harry mumbled and then trailed off.

"You were making rather diligent notes," Professor Snape finished the sentence.

"Yeah, and then you made me feel stupid." He looked at the Potions Master, defiance in his eye. "That puts a kid off, you know."

"Yes. I know."

"You want to hate me, don't you?" Harry asked knowing the answer.

"Yes, it is far easier. If I were to associate you with your mother that would be very difficult for me. Associating you with your father is easier, hate is far less painful than regret."

Harry looked at him, confused. Regret, what could he possibly regret.

"You make it difficult," he continued. "Take the pictures, maybe we can speak about her another time."

Harry knew what that meant. This little heart to heart was over. He collected the pictures, handling them just as delicately as the professor had. He placed them in his potions textbook, and finally he placed the late homework on the desk.

As he made his way to the door, the professor spoke again, "You deserve far more than a cupboard, Harry."


End file.
